


All these things that I've done

by JulyBecameDecember



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Apologies, Castiel Uses Actual Words (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester are Jack Kline's Parents, Castiel in the Men of Letters Bunker (Supernatural), Child Neglect, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Forgiveness, Gen, I suppose, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Neglect, Introspection, Melancholy, Post-Episode: s15e13 Destiny's Child, Regret, Season/Series 15, Season/Series 15 Spoilers, Self-Doubt, Talking, a quiet moment, anyway, i guESS? idk if i should properly tag it that but i can't, i guess, multiple POVs, not really fluff but not really angst, see a better way to put it, yeehaw!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulyBecameDecember/pseuds/JulyBecameDecember
Summary: With a deep breath, one he really doesn’t need, Cas looks back up at Dean and says, “I’m sorry.”
Relationships: (if you squint) - Relationship, Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, I mean you enterpret whether its shippy or not
Comments: 6
Kudos: 17





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyooo so,,, I just,, got really emotional while rewatching the show so,, this baby was born! Hope u like,,

It’s far too late in the night for this, he recognizes. Chuck is still on the horizon, worlds after worlds crashing down around them. The power of it is enough to make its way to Castiel. 

But that’s not what’s on his mind. No, despite the isolation of the Bunker, the gentle snoring of Sam and Dean, the subdued noises of Jack reading in the library, Castiel paces. His mind has been drifting ever since Jack retired for the night, overwhelmed by the restoration of his soul. 

Jack always felt so  _ extremely _ . For being Lucifer’s… spawn (not son, never son. Jack had chosen Castiel. Only he, Castiel, earned the right to claim Jack as his child) Jack was surprisingly sympathetic. Or, well, he supposes, not so surprisingly. Kelly had been such a kind heart, compassionate, caring. She was, in every respect, Jack’s mother. 

Still, that’s not what Castiel’s thoughts have been lingering on all night. Jack’s regret about Mary brought up much that Castiel had worked to bury deep down over the years. Forcing Dean to pick the razor back up, letting Sam out of the panic room, trusting so foolishly in the Angels’ plan for the Apocalypse, working with Crowley, deceiving them all in the entire year, bringing Sam back soulless, shattering the wall, playing God, the Angels falling and the taste of ash on his tongue, Purgatory, Charlie, Metatron, Sam, Dean-

Each day, more and more of his Grace fades. Each day, he becomes more and more apprehensive of the deadline. How close he is to being worthless. They’ll cast him out, he knows. What purpose will the brothers have of him once his ‘mojo’ fades. It’s the wise move to dispose of the dead weight. But for all self conviction, it doesn’t seem easier. 

His first repent, against everything, the one thing above all he’s never been able to forgive himself for. Alistair. Dean. Why had he so readily let Uriel talk him into accepting the lie? For influencing, indoctrinating him into thinking that Dean- picking it back up, doing what he already hated himself for from Hell- was what they required. Uriel had played them the whole time. Knowing that, truthfully, it had all been a game. Uriel was the one killing Angels. Not Alistair. And the whole thing, the entire shitty situation, had all been for naught. Dean had had to relive Hell for nothing. 

Even then, when he hadn’t recognized what it was he was feeling, even when he was still under Heaven’s influence, the first strong human emotion he had felt was  _ revulsion _ . For the way each cut, each strike, each blow against Alistair stained Dean’s soul. Dean’s soul, which had survived Hell, blindingly bright in the shadowy pit. It had shown throughout the entire domain, almost like a sliver of Heaven despite the unholy land. Even as Dean cut into souls, his own still burned brilliantly with its cracks.

Castiel had been drawn to it, following its warmth and beating the others to Dean’s soul. The first moments Castiel had touched his soul felt like- well, it felt like the Host from before. Bright, pure, righteous. It was so beautiful, that heretic thoughts had spun through his being. They tempted him, saying that this soul, this cracked, weeping soul, was more important than Heaven, more important than God. 

And yet, Castiel had still cradled Dean’s soul to him, vigilant to preserve the precious light in it as he poured his Grace into it. Slowly, the fractures healed, but Dean he would heal the dimness himself. Careful as he could, Castiel spread his wings, only two at the time as he had been lower than a seraph, letting them spread like shadows throughout the heated halls, and had flown. The moment Castiel had entered Heaven, he went to work. Molecule by molecule, he sculpted Dean from earth as God had done with Adam. There was an honor in the fact that he, Castiel, underling of Zachariah, had been the one to raise The Righteous Man from Perdition, to build Dean from the ground up. 

Dean’s soul remained at the side, quite, curious. Not quite awake. No, he wasn’t supposed to know the mysteries that Heaven held, but Castiel had given into Dean. Still, Dean must have known that he was protected, cared for, for he was calm. The burned edges from the pit had repaired a bit, not entirely, but that would come with time. 

Then, Castiel had finished, placing Dean’s soul within his recreation. Once completed, he gripped Dean by the shoulder, transporting him back to where he last was on Earth, the grave Sam had dug for him in Pontiac. Castiel’s true form had been too much, too mighty for Earth. Trees had fallen, burning quickly under the Light of his Grace but Castiel noticed none of this. Instead, he poured more of his Grace into Dean, assuring his safety. When he concluded, he reported to Heaven, content to rest and wait. 

And later- Alistair. It wasn’t just Dean reliving Hell, but Castiel too. Every fiber of his divine being was begging Cas to barge in there, to end it, to stop from Dean burying himself in his scorn, his fear, his… enjoyment. Dean had stated Castiel wouldn’t like what came out of that room. Castiel had feared Dean would be right. And… Uriel had played them. And Dean had tainted himself with self hate for nothing. 

His second regret lay with Sam, just another in Castiel’s long list of mistakes. Castiel has wronged Sam in ways hehe can’t even begin to forgive himself for. Letting him out of that panic room, enabling him a way to get out, to free Lucifer, only to hate himself for it later. For shattering that wall in Sam’s mind, doing irreversible damage. That had hurt Dean, but Cas can never forgive himself for forcing Sam to address what transpired in Hell, in the Cage… with Lucifer. How could he have missed something as significant as Sam’s soul? And then panicked, driving him to ignore the younger Winchester. Sam was important to him. Not like Dean was, but Sam was family. And Castiel had forsaken him in favor of working with… Crowley. Sam, who had proven himself more of a brother than many of the Angels Castiel had known.

Had it hurt that Sam lost faith in him first? Yes. But in the end, Sam had been right. Of course he had been, Sam has always been the moral compass of the two brothers, even when Dean’s own was strong. The younger Winchester has consistently been more in tune with the right choice. And Castiel… Castiel had let him suffer, rather than help fix the issue he created. 

The Leviathan had been his transgression, and Castiel thought he could repent, return the souls, take on Sam’s suffering, and remain out of the fight. And- and maybe it worked a bit, maybe his healing, or transfer of Sam’s trauma had fixed things a little between him and Dean. But nothing he could do could ever make up for what he’s done to humanity, to Angels. Yet it had fixed things with Sam. When he came back from Purgatory, Sam had pulled him aside and thanked him, empathized with him. Sam had said that things were fixed. 

Then the Angels had fallen. And Castiel- Castiel was human, and for the first time felt the full force of his emotions. There was a dark period then, when he curled up under train stations, inside shelters, where Castiel wondered why he was still alive, why should he still be living? He had done too much. The best thing would be if he was dead. Where he couldn’t harm another and suffer eternity in Hell.

But the Winchesters. They were clear in his mind; he needed to get to them. He had to. They could help him fix this, help him fix the Angels. Maybe, just maybe, he could return the Angels to Heaven and then… then find his Grace. And… continue to redeem himself. Maybe he could become a hunter again, help Sam and Dean. He’s hurt Heaven far more than he’s helped.

Then everything- it all got too much. The Mark of Cain and Castiel regretted lying, regretted going against Dean’s wishes. Still, he had been selfish, too selfish to watch Dean burn the world down. All he wanted was his friend back, his family. He wanted to help ease Sam’s panic about Dean. It was hard to listen and hear about, see Sam lose himself, lose who he was to find Dean, to help Dean. 

Charlie had been a brilliant light in the burning darkness of the Mark of Cain. She brought levity and humor, joy and a pure brightness to the whole situation. Castiel found himself attached to the young woman before he could stop himself. His fault she had died, his fault he hadn’t been fast enough, smart enough, quick enough. He had been unable to find her, and if he had just been more careful… maybe the brothers wouldn’t have lost another friend dear to them. 

Castiel returns to the present by a hand on his shoulder. 

“Cas?”

He turns to find Jack looking at him, a confused squint to his eyes as the boy tilts his head. It’s endearing. It’s a trait Castiel knows Jack picked up from him, which Cas himself picked up from Jimmy. Some of Jimmy’s idiosyncrasies had transferred over until they became a part of him. 

“Jack,” Castiel responds, letting his voice cradle the name. Every day he’s still in awe of the fact that Jack is back. Back after God- Chuck killed him. And that his soul has returned. 

“Are you alright? You feel… sad.”

Jack’s bluntness had never bothered Castiel like it bothers Dean. It’s something Castiel appreciates in Jack. Attempting to figure out what Dean wants, what Dean’s saying, what Dean’s thinking or feeling is like pulling teeth. With Jack, he will say it. 

Castiel offers him a small smile, one that he reserves just for his son, just for Jack, showing the concern is appreciated, but he’s fine. “It’s alright,” he answers after ruffling Jack’s hair, something Dean has done and Cas isn’t sure why he got the urge to. “I’m alright. Sadness is a part of life, Jack. It’s what makes you-”

“Human?” 

“Yes, I suppose in this case it does make me… human.” 

There’s an irony to that, as Castiel is so close to being a full human, forever. He doesn’t want to be, for as much as Dean tries to make humanity seem good. Just because he enjoys something doesn’t mean he wants to be it. Because the truth of the matter is, he enjoys being an Angel, enjoys being helpful. The freedom to help the brothers, to help Jack. To flit between the divine halls of Heaven and the murky bottom of Hell. His Grace is a life force through him, connecting him to the light of the world. 

He doesn’t want to be human. 

Castiel notices that they’ve been in silence for sometime. While he doesn’t find that unusual himself, he knows that if either of the brothers, mainly Dean, would scare and mutter something about it being creepy. More of the human ‘norms’ he doesn’t quite understand. 

So instead, he turns back to Jack, and says rather than asks, “You’re not asleep.” 

Jack’s expression only clouds for a moment, before turning confused, “I couldn’t. With the return of my soul and Grace… I can’t seem to sleep. Dean said before I should try counting sheep. But there are no sheep to count, and how does counting sheep help you sleep?”

Letting out a sigh, Castiel shrugs, “Well, I’m- I’m not sure. Dean hasn’t fully explained that to me yet. I don’t understand it either. Humans are confusing.” 

“Yes. Dean especially.” 

Castiel quirks a smile, patting Jack on the back, “Yes, well, why don’t you try to get some rest. We need you rested for anything that comes our way tomorrow.” 

With a beaming smile, Jack nods before bounding off to his room. Castiel lets himself relax, watching the young boy rush off. Hopefully, when all this was over, Jack could be his age, to… not have the weight of the universe on his shoulders. A normal kid. 

Sighing, Castiel found himself on the familiar path to Dean’s room, right up to door 11. For once, he is glad that the brothers chose rooms so far apart, as he does not want Sam hearing this through the Bunker’s walls. Not that he could in an adjacent room anyway, Castiel has learned that these walls are thick. Structurally, it makes sense. They are supposed to support the building and the walls. Thinner walls would most likely lead to a rapid disrepair. But what does he know about buildings?

Without hesitation, Castiel knocks and enters the room. The light is still on. He already had known Dean was awake, but he had expected the hunter to be laying in the dark. Instead, he finds Dean peering blankly at some books, the record player to the side playing quietly, and the lights still on.

Dean hasn’t noticed his entrance yet, and Castiel doesn’t want to spook him. So carefully, Castiel steps into the room, letting his feet drag along the floor. Finally, Dean seems to notice, clearing his throat as he turns in his chair. 

“Heya, Cas.” 

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel says lowly, sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed. 

He ignores Dean’s look of surprise and instead glances down at his lap. The hunter seems to recognize that this is a serious moment, a bigger moment, enough so that Cas needs time to process what he’s going to say. 

With a deep breath, one he really doesn’t need, Cas looks back up at Dean and says, “I’m sorry.” 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> dean and jack talk
> 
> also fun fact, alternate title for this chapter was "Dean bean time to emote" so that should tell you about it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta'd not edited rushed at the end im so sorry i'm trying to get this story out,,  
> anyway i had to break dean's section into two pieces, the first with jack, the second with Cas. next after dean is cas and sam! and maybe even sam and dean and then jack and sam!!

It hasn’t been an easy night. 

For the past four hours he’s been sitting in his room, wallowing in his regret for bolting. But that seemed to be the only thing he’s good at, huh? Dean’s always been good at pushing people out, shoving things away for ‘later’ even if later never came. He’s always managed to find a way out of a situation, always, regardless of how important it was. Sam might be into the whole hippy-dippy-talk-about-your-feelings schtick, but not Dean. 

(His traitorous brain reminds him of how he fled the kitchen, Jack’s tears a very sudden and real reminder of what happened to his mom.

It’s not that he hates the kid. He doesn’t. In fact, the time when they thought Jack was dead only reminded him of how much he cared about the kid. Like it or not, Jack was _their_ kid, _their_ family. Dean had missed him, and it had been so much easier to pretend that nothing was wrong when Jack didn’t have his soul. Now it’s back, and Dean had left his kid sobbing into the table.)

Shoving them down, Dean slams his hand on the table, relishing in the slight ache it gives him. He grabs the glass of whiskey a little too tightly, but downs the whole thing. The bottle rests to the side, still reasonably full. Oh, how easy it would be to drown himself in the bottle, to wrap around it and-

Well. He knows what that would get him. Sam’s bitchface wouldn’t be worth it. Despite his blasé nature, Dean really does care what Sam thinks of him. He cares because… he’s the leader, at least of their little crew. Sam looks up to him, and Dean relies on that to keep him going. The cold shoulder from Sam if Dean did his usual thing- well. Dean can’t handle another awkward situation. 

(And yet isn’t that just like his father? Burying himself in alcohol to ignore… everything, yelling, The cold shoulder, becoming nothing more than a shell of a man? John Winchester had loved his boys, but he had in no way been the father either of them needed. It had taken Dean years to realize that, to get over is stupid need to make his father proud. To overcome his hero worship and realize- John had done them wrong.

It’s impossible to forget the weight of a shotgun in his little six year old hands, the smell of smoke and gun powder. He can easily remember the moment he learned what recoil was, what the sound of a casing hitting the ground sounded like. Dean knows what it’s like to be making Mac and Cheese for his six year old brother, himself at age ten, cooking so they didn’t go hungry. The burns from the water boiling over had taken weeks, months to heal. John hadn’t been there to help him clean up, instead Dean had bandaged himself, sobbing on the bathroom floor wishing for his mom. The feeling of hunger, starvation, being so sick and dizzy from missing meals just to make sure Sammy ate- it had landed him in a boy’s home. He will never forget his first kill, the pride, finally, on his father’s face despite the fact Dean was covered in blood, shaking. There’s years of drunken and… not so drunken rages, almost getting caught by cops as Deal manages to take something so small as a CLIFF bar for Sammy. 

Jack deserves better than that. Much better. Dean thinks back to Ben, his not-son, all those years ago. That had ended horribly because- because as usual Dean became his father. He pushed Ben, yelled at the kid. The kid couldn’t look at him for a week and now- now he was doing the same thing to Jack.)

Last time someone killed his mom… last time someone had killed Mary Winchester, Dean had spent 27-28 years of his life hunting down the son of a bitch who had done it. And- and Jack murdered his mom, reduced her to nothing but ash and now he’s letting him live in the Bunker. 

Dean swallows down the glass of whiskey, savoring the way it burns down his throat. The liquid warms his stomach, sitting heavily like a rock. The urge for more isn’t… there. He finds that he doesn’t _want_ to drink more, he doesn’t want to lose himself in it. 

(He forgave Sam when he was soulless didn’t he? And so why shouldn’t he forgive Jack? Jack wouldn’t have done that with his soul… he wouldn’t have killed someone who was like a grandmother to him. And isn’t that the nail in the coffin? Jack loved Mary. Jack… lost Mary. The kid would have to live the rest of his life knowing it was his hands, his powers, that took away someone he loved and cared for, someone who loved and cared for him.)

Dean lets the tumbler clatter onto the desk, leaving a ring of condensation underneath it. It’s still cold from the ice, slowly melting into water. He lets his finger circle around the glass, feeling the ridges and bumps in the carefully crafted item. Glass is such a fragile thing, and yet it stands here intricate.

Carefully, Dean rises from his desk, taking the needle off the record player. He takes one last look around his room, deciding to go shoeless for this, and shuts the lights off. The door closes with a soft click and Dean finds himself in the hallway. Jack’s room is only a eleven doors down. He inhales, trying to steady some of his impulses, the ones begging to yell, to scream, to run- and sets down the hall. 

He said it to Cas, he doesn’t know why he gets so angry. But- but he doesn’t want to stay that way, he doesn’t want to lash out and lose more people. He won’t repeat the mistake of kicking Cas out of the Bunker that first year, he won’t betray the kid again. Dean doesn’t want to be stuck in that same loop of self destruction, no matter the jokes he makes to Sam. All it’s gotten him is pain, and if this is really their last… year on Earth, their last showdown, Dean’s going to make every minute count. He’ll finally shove aside everything that’s held him back and just… just do what he can to make these last months happy. 

This will end one way or another, but Dean doesn’t see himself coming out of it on the other end safe. Sam, maybe, but Dean? Dean has always doubted his security in these things. And now with God, he highly doubts that anyone but Jack will survive. The kid can protect himself, but he won’t be able to protect Sam, Dean, and Cas. 

Quietly, he pads down the hallway, reaching Jack’s door. He knocks softly on it, trying to keep his voice neutral as he calls out, “Jack? Can we talk?” 

The door cracks open, revealing a timid, and almost terrified Jack. He peeks out from behind the door, not meeting Dean’s eyes. 

“I’ll get my stuff,” he says simply. 

“What?”

“My stuff, to leave?” 

Dean pales, pushing into the room. Jack moves aside to make room for Dean, to avoid collision. Sure enough, there’s a half packed bag on the bed. Anger burns through Dean, wanting him to lash out, to agree and kick the kid out but- but he promised himself, to get better, and he will. 

“No- no, kid, You don’t need to leave.” 

There’s a hopeful look in his eyes, “Are you sure? I- I know you don’t-”

“Jack,” Dean cuts Jack off, inhaling deeply, exhaling sharply, “You’re right, I don’t forgive you.” 

The kid’s face falls, and _fuck_ those puppy dog eyes he picked up from Sam, Cas, or both. 

“No, I- Kid, I don’t forgive you, and I can’t forget what happened but- I’m… trying to move past it okay kid? I just need some time. But this is your home, and… and you’re our kid okay? Me, Sam, Cas, we care about you. I know- I know you didn’t-” 

He cuts off, closing his eyes. Dean tries to will away the sight of Mary’s lifeless body on the ground, failed after Jack couldn’t bring her back.

“I know you didn’t want to kill her. That doesn’t excuse that you did- and- I know you didn’t have a soul because of the magic we- we had you use. I just need you to give me time, to… to move past it. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you, but I’m trying okay? I’m… trying.” 

Suddenly, he’s got an armful of tearful nephilim, quietly stepping into his chest. Jack’s arms wrap around him, and Dean reciprocates without even thinking about it. He lets out a small, nervous chuckle, patting Jack on the back. 

“Okay,” Dean mumbles, but makes no move to pull back, “okay.” 

“Thank you, Dean.” 

“Yeah, kid, anytime.”

(He doesn't think about how right it feels to have Jack here, in his arms. This is his son, this is his kid, and he knows that they'll make it through. They've been through enough already. They'll be okay.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeeeehhawww how bout that new episode huh

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked i,,,t,,,, i might write more spn fics in the future :eyes: also with cas's regrets,, im kinda just stopping where i stopped even tho i cOULd delve more into seasons 11-15 and pull some more out there, but i didnt want to overwhelm.


End file.
